


PDA

by redonpointe



Series: Ghosts in Red [12]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 17:59:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10645110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redonpointe/pseuds/redonpointe
Summary: Sherlock asks Natasha for his phone. Natasha wants something in exchange.





	PDA

**** "Pass me my mobile," Sherlock requested.

Natasha lifted her eyes from the screen of her laptop, fingers hovering over the keys. They'd been sitting in silence for the better part of an hour. Sherlock staring into the eyepiece of his microscope, Natasha typing up a mission report due later in the day. There was never any way to know how long the silence would last, but she'd anticipated longer.

When she didn’t immediately reply, Sherlock continued with an explanation. “I need to text Lestrade before he leaves the office. No guarantee he’ll answer after he does, he tends to ignore me when he’s off the clock.”

Natasha swept her eyes over the bench. They’d taken up a corner of the St. Bart’s lab while John disappeared to make conversation with Mike Stamford. Molly had the day off. There was no one in the room save the two of them.

She lifted a stack of papers out of the way in her search. “Where is it?”

“Pocket,” Sherlock answered.

Natasha cocked an amused brow at him. “Can’t get it yourself?”

“Busy.”

“Articulate,” she teased.

Natasha rose from her swivel stool with feline grace, moving closer to check his pockets. She smoothed her hands down Sherlock’s back and around his sides, leaning in to whisper playfully in his ear. “Is it here?”

“No, of course not," he said distractedly. “You know where I keep my phone.”

Natasha’s lips twitched into a smile he wouldn’t see. She swept her hands to the very top of his chest, underneath his suit coat but still over his light blue shirt, and inch by slow inch smoothed them down until she reached his lower abdomen. She felt his muscles contract beneath her fingers, felt his breath catch in his chest.

Her lips brushed against his ear. “Here, maybe?”

Sherlock's voice came huskier this time. “Still no.”

“Strange…” Natasha pressed herself flush against his back, peeking at the door to check no one was coming. Satisfied they’d remain uninterrupted, she smoothed her hands further down, raking her fingernails across the top of his thighs.

“Probably not here either,” she said thoughtfully, gently nudging his legs apart at the knee, “but just to be thorough…”

Sherlock’s hands finally dropped from his microscope, and he lifted his head. “John could come back at any moment.”

“I’m just looking for your phone.” Natasha followed her words with a nip of his earlobe, dragging her hands across the inside of his thighs. Deliberately slow. “You can stop me whenever you like, search for it yourself.”

Sherlock’s fingers fidgeted on the surface of the bench. “I’m working.”

“Are you? Then you really _should_ stop me,” she said.

Sherlock drew a subtle, shaky breath, still not entirely looking her way. “Anyone could see us.”

Natasha’s hands drew perilously close to indecency. “We’ve been at this for over a year now, never stopped us before.”

He stubbornly refused to give in. “Lestrade will leave, and I won’t—”

“ _You’re going to have to stop me, dorogoy, you know how this works_ ,” Natasha cut him off in Russian, this time trailing her lips down the slope of his neck. Her hands reached the apex of his thighs, and she cupped him over the expensive fabric of his trousers, felt him shiver in her arms. Her lips brushed against his ear one more time. “ _Not here either? Feels promising._ ”

“ _Nyet,_ ” Sherlock breathed out.

Natasha smiled against his skin. “I suppose I’ll just have to keep looking.”

Sherlock caught her wrist before she could pop open the button on his trousers, finally turning his head to address her over his shoulder. His cheeks were flushed and his bottom lip red, like he’d bitten it hard. “ _Pozhaluysta_.”

Natasha pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Since you asked so nicely…” She pulled back just enough to slip her hand into his pocket and retrieve his phone. She propped her chin on his shoulder and unlocked the screen, thoroughly innocent now. “What am I texting?”

Sherlock turned his head for another peek through the eyepiece. “Check husband’s closet. If blue shirt found, arrest immediately.”

Natasha typed out the message and placed the phone on the bench in front of him, just beside the microscope. She dropped another kiss to his neck with the intention to move away.

“I was working too, you know,” she said.

Sherlock swiveled in his chair stool to grab her by the waist, catching her before she managed more than a handful of steps. He pulled her to his chest, inches from kissing her lips, and met her eyes, dilated, dark, _intense._

Natasha circled her arms around his neck to bring him closer still, breaking out in a slow smile.

“Minx,” Sherlock breathed, trailing large hands from her waist to smooth over the generous curve of her backside. Pressing her closer, he gave her a gentle squeeze over the fabric of her snug-fitting pencil skirt. “My turn now.”


End file.
